I cried. Yes, I confess to the frailty but I did cry. It had nothing to do with anything in my eyes. It had to do with an age old packaging of emotions that was despatched by Vinay Verma and gang at their wonderful play at the Telugu University Auditorium last night.

It was almost as if I stepped back into the history of theatre. The stage was small, not the mammoth Ravindra Bharati but the quaint and newly refurbished Telugu University Auditorium. The backdrops were layers of simple graphics. The props were minimal. The background score was ‘live’ even though there was no pit and no musicians could be seen.

And in this once upon a time land, lived a great theatre star called Samrat Singh Rathore, not to be confused with the actor who played the role of the ticket collector, but Vinay Verma himself. In a ageless role that starts from maturity and heads often towards the childishness of old age. From the trappings of memories to the failings of expectations.

In their quest to own the space that they are supposed to dominate, many directors have their actors flit from side to side, from left to right and back. But this was quintessential drama, nay melodrama. And this demanded centre stage.

So the eye was never strained to look around for the action. It was always there in front of us. With the supporting cast coming in from the wings and exiting the same way whenever the occasion or the script demanded.

The layered backdrops meant that the actors went farther back from the audience with every scene change. But that only added to the charm of the play and Vinay held onto his audience connect with such tenacity that the distance seemed immaterial.

The script was naturally written in Intimate Theatre, First Person style at one level and at the Second Person “I’m just here to add to the story” style at the next. It encompassed all flavours of Hindi…from shudh parishudh to ashud and anglicised. But did so with such natural flair that you did not notice the impact of the dialect until you walked out and were accosted by yet another shade of Hyderabadi.

The lighting was colourful as is required in period sets…reds, blues, strong source lights and in your face mood sets. And operated seamlessly.

The man who had it all. To the man who had to give everything away. But when it comes to setting a price for abundant love, the children find that circumstances cloud the horizon and make the grandparent an unaffordable luxury. In a show of regret tinged with sarcasm and wry wit, Vinay stole the hearts of the audience with his versatile performance but had to let go whenever Naren Yadav made an appearance…Naren’s fan club made sure of that. The little grand daughter was cute.

On a quirky note, the history of Hyderabadi theatre should recognise Kanishka Dasgupta who first brought in caricature Bengalis into his Samosas and Banerjees etc. But Malayban Lahiri and Shayontoni Ghosh took the stereotype further by mocking the BabuMoshais in our world…a good cameo.

Pallavi Varma is beginning to become like Nirupa Roy of the old. The ever suffering Ma. Which is okay but…Saurabh Gharipurikar as the son who cannot stand up to his wife plays the role of the hen pecked child with elan. The conversation between him and Vinay in Body Language was fascinating to watch.

But why did I cry? The mix of powerful dialogs, wonderful and resonant delivery, packed with apt music…the result, a very operatic mood control and uncalled for tears. My way of applauding perhaps.